


races

by prefacing



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefacing/pseuds/prefacing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bart visits jaime at the hospital</p>
            </blockquote>





	races

they don't have hospitals in the future. at least, not ones that don't double as research facilities - and he hopes he never has to explain _that_ one to nightwing and co., now or ever - fully equipped with reach technology, each room a study in silver, with monitors and screens and cold clinical detachment.

even so, the only thing keeping bart's feet flat on the floor and not in blurred, technicolor motion is the presence of the team around him. cassie chews on her lip, blue eyes full of worry. gar clutches tightly onto m'gann, his face sickly pale against the lowlight. he's in civilian garb - they all are - but not a single one looks entirely at ease in their jackets and opaque sunglasses, bart least of all.

he hates hospitals, hate the hopeless aura they emanate, the constant reminder of illness and sickness and death and hasn't he already seen enough of that in the future? and the attendees, with their clipboards and pencils, writing down notes like the people in the beds are test subjects and not humans in pain and--

"we need to go."

nightwing, as usual, is the one to break the silence - and bart's own internal monologue - his voice calm, structured, belying absolutely none of the tension in the air. 

"--already?"

his own voice is shrill, off-guard, a note three octaves sharp against the otherwise silent symphony of jaime's room. but it's a perfect reflection of the disappointment on his face, dark and brittle and not, for once, carefully painted over in red and cream cheer.

"we've already been here an hour. if staying here longer would help blue get better faster, then i'd be all for it, but right now we're just getting in the way, and we can't let this get in the way of our other missions."

_such a dick grayson thing to say_ , thinks bart, and for the first time, he can't stand the cold logic behind those words.

"what about five more minutes? please? his mom's still sleeping and i bet you guys are feelin' the mode, but i still feel pretty quick, i mean i'm not the grandson of the great flash for nothing and..."

he's babbling, he _knows_ he's babbling but he can't leave, not yet, not when all of this is his fault, a black mark made even darker by the fact that he was supposed to be here saving jaime, and not the other way around. 

his mask is cracking, and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold the pieces together, but if it'll afford him five more minutes in this homeless room with his best friend...right now, he thinks it might all be worth it.

nightwing's lips open, and bart steels himself for the rejection he knows is coming.

"...fine. five minutes. but that's it."

bart blinks, and before he has time to move, everyone else is exiting, ushered by their fearless leader's hushed words. and then it's just him. him and the heart monitor and the quiet form of mrs. reyes dozing in the corner...and jaime, a million and one tubes attached to various parts of his body.

for once, he doesn't take the quick route, but instead slowly carries the chair to right next to jaime's right side. there's nothing more than the brush of fabric against plastic as he straddles it, leans forward, and watches his friend sleep, chin nestled against blank white sheets.

he remembers the crackle of empty chip bags, light and mocking against the baritone of jaime's irritated accusations, and the offensively unresembling snowman jaime had passed off as a perfect replica of him. ("it doesn't even have a shape!" "exactly why it looks like you! you're always a blur.") he doesn't take a single one of those precious moments for granted, not when he's had more of them in the few short weeks in the past than he's had in his thirteen years prior, but he'd thought, somehow, that he would have had more of them, that by befriending jaime and slowly nudging him towards all that was good would have magically made everything better.

...but that optimistic style of thinking really is pretty retro.

_just be okay, please pleasepleaseplease. i promise i won't ever do anything like that again, and i'm so so so sorry and next time i'll wait, if you'll just be okay and open your eyes or say something or--_

"b...art? you're...holdin' on kinda...tight, _ese_..."

murmured and almost muffled by the steady beep of the heart rate monitor he's hooked up to, but at that precise moment in time, jaime's sandpaper rasp is the sweetest thing bart thinks he'll ever hear.

"blue! blue, you're okay! this is so totally crash. well, that you're okay i mean and not that i'm holding on too tight and by the way i am _totally_ sorry about that and i promise i'll let go and not squeeze that tightly again and--"

he quiets immediately when he sees the slump of jaime's shoulders against the bed, an exasperation he's usually all too willing to egg on. but not tonight. tonight is not about him and his depthless wealth of mistakes. 

"....sorry."

there's a flicker of--something at the corner of jaime's lips and he turns his head slowly 'til he's giving bart his full attention.

"'s fine. so everyone.....left already, huh?"

there's an apologetic smile on bart's face in response.

"so...what happened anyway...?"

bart hesitates a moment, partly because he has one minute and thirty seconds left, and partly because he can't bring himself to recall the events that almost cost jaime his life. again. so instead he smiles, crooked and bittersweet.

"oh, we raced. you won."

it's not the full answer, and he knows that jaime knows it, but there's a proper time and place for explanations, and bart also knows that this isn't it.

"...really?"

"oh, totally." bart pulls back, unwillingly, but he needs room for grandiose arm motions, motions that are interrupted a scant minute later when nightwing marches back into the room.

"time's up."

only two words, but bart knows dancing around them is futile, especially when he's pushed his luck this far already. he's nodding in response, murmuring an apology to jaime as he hops out of his seat, puts the chair back, but before he makes it to the door completely, he stops.

turns.

"you'll...you'll be okay, right?"

internally, he winces, wants to take back that momentary break that has his and jaime's position reversed, that could threaten the fragile base he's built for himself here, but nightwing is already out the door and jaime's eyes are half-lidded again.

"'course i will. still gotta...rub my victory in...your face, _hermano_."

and as nightwing briskly pushes him out of the room, bart thinks he might not mind coming back, if it means getting to see that smile on jaime's face once more.


End file.
